


Pour Some Sugar on Me

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys Are Dumb, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Profanity, Poor Kyoutani, Spoilers for the manga post Chapter 148, awkward confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their match against Karasuno ended, Yahaba Shigeru was worried. Worried about the team he was supposed to captain, and whether he could hold a candle to his departing senpai.</p>
<p>But he wasn't the only one who was a little lost, and maybe they could find each other in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour Some Sugar on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kongniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kongniverse/gifts).



> This was written to fulfill a Tumblr ask meme for this pairing and 'things you said when you were scared,' as requested by the giftee.

If Yahaba thought that watching Iwaizumi-senpai cry in public was the most awkward and unsettling part of his day after losing to Karasuno, he would be mistaken.

He hadn’t counted on the bus ride back to the school being like a funeral, with the dirge of the engine throttling every thought of life out of all of them. They all tried to cover up the sound with idle chatter, but fart jokes and faux complaints about homework could only mask the air in the bus; it couldn’t make it go away.

Yahaba knew from the minute he sat down next to Watari that his captaincy was being tested. The role may not have been his at the moment, but the next day after the third years officially retired, where the team was going from there was on his shoulders. And where they were going at the moment was somewhere none of them wanted to be. Or deserved to be.

They disembarked at the school in an orderly fashion, which in itself was eerie. There was no teasing from Kyoutani, warning Kindaichi not to hit his stupid hair on the top of the doorframe, nor were there jibes from Matsukawa and Hanamaki about ‘the kids growing up so fast.’

Once all of his teammates were off the bus, Yahaba raised a hand in the air and made a fist. He had seen Oikawa do this a few times over the course of the past couple of years, mainly when he needed everyone’s attention and the time for horsing around was over. Though the resultant hush shouldn’t have surprised him, it did because he had caused it.

“Team meeting in the clubroom. Be there in five minutes, or all your asses will be running suicides until you puke tomorrow.”

The words carried a force that felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but they did the trick. Each one of his teammates, from benchwarmers to starters, from first years to third years, nodded solemnly and filed towards the gymnasium and to the clubroom in the loft above.

Yahaba watched each of his teammates file up the stairs to the clubroom until everyone was accounted for, and then he followed. Kyoutani was the last one to make his way there, instead hanging back to walk beside Yahaba.

“Don’t bust their balls. We all did our best.”

The words of solidarity almost made Yahaba trip over his own feet. Either his warning during the match had stirred some unselfish, team-centric concepts into his future ace, or they had been there all along. Regardless, Yahaba was glad to see Kyoutani sticking up for his teammates and hoped he might be able to rely on that in the future.

“I know we did,” he replied with a nod before resuming his path to the clubhouse. The outlines of a smirk threatening, he bumped his shoulder into Kyoutani’s and teased, “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard you say. There’s hope for you yet.”

Kyoutani’s unintelligible response was probably best left understood, but Yahaba knew that he had passed one of the first tests of the night by making peace with his adversarial spiker and probable vice-captain.

When they crossed the threshold, the air in the room was stagnant in a way that had nothing to do with several years of sweaty gym bags. Heads were down, shoulders sagging, and spirits drooped over the available benches, with most of the third years slumped against each other in a tired, sullen mass.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

Yahaba prepared to clap his hands together to call everyone to attention, but before he could, Kyoutani bellowed, “Hey, listen up!” as he crossed his arms, chin held high. Even Yahaba felt himself standing straighter at this barked command.

For a moment, Yahaba forgot that he was supposed to speak, but he recovered and began. “I’ve been playing volleyball since I was eight, and I’ve never had a prouder moment than I did today.”

The first to openly gawk at his statement was Oikawa, closely followed by Kindaichi, but if he was going to carry on with this, he couldn’t stop to wonder what they were thinking. “Every last one of you went all out today, from the guys standing on the court to the ones on the sidelines, cheering them on and never giving up.

“But out of all of us, I’m in awe of how much our senpais gave in our matches today, especially the last one.” The sullen bench full of third years collectively raised their head in question at this. “They could’ve retired from the club and left us on our own, but they didn’t. They stepped onto the court one last time to show us how it’s done and how to be winners.”

With that, Yahaba turned to the third years and bowed low. “Thank you, senpais. You honor us with your hard work and sacrifice. We can only hope to live up to your faith in us.”

No matter how low he bowed, nor how many thank yous he issued, Yahaba knew it would never be enough to pay homage to the four third-years who stayed on the club despite faculty pressure to help them make a push for nationals. Not because they didn’t think the rest of their kouhai could do it, but because they were born and bred competitors who could never turn down a challenge.

When he straightened, Yahaba was surprised to see each and every first and second year in the room on their feet and bowing to the third years. But more than that, Oikawa was biting his lip while Iwaizumi dashed his palms at his wet cheeks. Matsukawa had a soft but sure smile, and Hanamaki was actually turning red. This reaction made Yahaba want to shout his embarrassing speech over and over again until each of them accepted the praise as their due because they deserved it.

He almost did just that, but Kyoutani rose from his bow and strode over to the third years and shook each of their hands. Surprisingly, he started with Oikawa.

All of them did the same in kind, and then Yahaba offered the floor to the senpais. Oikawa gave a speech about how choosing Aobajousai had changed his life; Iwaizumi talked about how the team made him feel like he had a few dozen brothers; Matsukawa pretended to complain that he was always the tallest on the team, but Kindaichi was just cheating with his hair gel; Hanamaki joked that they could all grow up to be as good-looking as him someday.

Yahaba was going to miss every one of them more than he had ever thought possible.

With nothing else left to say, Yahaba dismissed the group and gave pats on the shoulder to each and every teammate as they left, as well as a promise to ‘see you tomorrow.’ However, he stopped when the third years, the last in the room, filed towards the door.

Iwaizumi was the first in line. He cracked a smile and gave Yahaba’s shoulder a playful punch. “You’re gonna kick ass next year, Yahaba. All of you.” He gave a bob of acknowledgement to Kyoutani, who stood ramrod straight in response.

Next, Oikawa patted his cheek and sighed. “They grow up so fast, don’t they, Iwa-chan?”

Snorting, Iwaizumi said, “Leave him alone, Oikawa. You’re seventeen, not forty.” Their resultant squabbling wafted into the clubroom well after they exited, and Yahaba couldn’t help but be relieved that, in the wake of everything changing, some things would always be the same.

Matsukawa give him a fist bump, and with a chuckle, Yahaba said, “Ba-la-LA-la-la-la.”

With an affirming nod, Matsukawa added, “Don’t let movie night slip. You need that dirt for training camp.”

“Of course,” Yahaba answers, though he had no intention of blackmailing any of his teammates. Well, maybe . . . he gave Kyoutani a sideways glance and thought that he might have use for certain information after all. Of one of the aforementioned movie nights and a certain shitty-haired wing spiker taking home a cardboard chicken nugget carton like it was a piece of art. _That_ he might be able to use.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kyoutani gave him a dirty look and growled, “Don’t even think about it, Yahaba.”

Yahaba merely chuckled and ignored the thinly veiled threat as he turned to bid goodbye to the last of the third years. Hanamaki punched Kyoutani in the shoulder — hard — and demanded an arm-wrestling match before he graduated. “If I beat you, then I can live with the only one being better than me being Iwaizumi. Him and his stupid bara arms can go to hell.”

Kyoutani waved his hand in dismissal, but Yahaba knew the challenge was all but set the moment it came from Hanamaki’s mouth. Hell, he was at least ninety percent sure he wanted to watch.

His mind still solidly on picturing the inevitable testosterone-fueled showdown, Yahaba was surprised when Hanamaki said, “You mind giving me a minute with your captain?”

With a gruff affirmative, Kyoutani turned and exited, leaving Hanamaki alone with a slightly confused Yahaba.

“Bet your wondering what this is about,” Hanamaki said, and the accuracy of the observation made Yahaba gulp. “And the winner of this round is me,” he added with a wry smile.

Recovering his composure, Yahaba pasted a grin on his face and waved a hand dismissively. “Bet you’re just going to tell me that speech was the grossest thing you’ve ever heard.”

Hanamaki laughed loudly. “I don’t think so, Baby Cap. You haven’t seen Iwaizumi after he’s had a few drinks.” When Yahaba’s eyes widened, Hanamaki put a finger over his still smiling lips and added, “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course not,” Yahaba agreed, but more because he was sure Iwaizumi could dismantle him if he so chose. That was one chance he didn’t want to take. “Our little secret, then, Hanamaki-senpai.”

“I hope it’s not the only one,” Hanamaki jibed, elbowing Yahaba in the ribs. “And you don’t have to call me senpai. Unless you’ve got some sort of complex about it. Or you think it’s hot.”

Yahaba gaped at Hanamaki, who was now turning beet red. “Damn it, that didn’t come out right.”

Still completely confused, Yahaba scratched the back of his neck and waited with baited breath for something to come out of Hanamaki’s mouth he could make sense of. He didn’t know what to do with himself, however, when those words came.

“Hell, I’ve waited this long. I can’t screw this up now.” Hanamaki shook his head and yanked Yahaba towards him, crushing their mouths together. “There. Consider it said.”

His lips still glistening with saliva that wasn’t his own, Yahaba reeled backwards until his knees knocked into a bench. He sprawled back onto it and stared off into the empty expanse of the room — anywhere but at Hanamaki. “I — I don’t know what to say.”

In a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Yahaba’s, Hanamaki squeaked, “Oh, Hanamaki-kun, your confession is so flattering. I’d love it if you were my boyfriend.”

Yahaba looked over just in time to see Hanamaki flounce his hair (he did NOT flounce!) and bat his eyelashes ridiculously. The batting was ridiculous. Not the eyelashes. Those were a given to be ridiculous, being all long and reddish gold and the same color as Hanamaki’s freckles.

Wait, what?

“You’re confessing to me? Now?” Yahaba’s brow furrowed as he hesitantly touched his still-tingling lips. “What?”

Hanamaki clapped him on the arm. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you? And here I was worried that this could end up being a giant misunderstanding.” He sighed and flopped on the bench next to Yahaba. “Don’t want to go and ruin anything, now do I?”

“I have no idea what’s happening,” Yahaba muttered to himself.

And he didn’t. Their season was over, Kyoutani was being all useful, Yahaba was going to be the captain, and the last person he ever thought would be doing so was confessing to him right at that moment. It was a lot. It was _daunting_.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Yahaba demanded, balling his fists in his lap. “Is this some sort of play to get me to jump through some invisible hoop?”

“Huh?” Hanamaki frowned.

Standing up, Yahaba jabbed his finger at Hanamaki and scolded, “I know I’m not Oikawa-san, and I never will be, but you don’t get to make fun of me like that. It’s not fair. Make fun of my hair, I don’t care, but who I am and what I like outside of this locker room is nobody’s business!”

Hanamaki flinched and stared at his hands. “God, I really fucked this up. I’m sorry, Yahaba. I’ll just . . . go now. Forget I said anything.”

It wasn’t until Hanamaki was halfway out the door that Yahaba called, “Wait.”

Hand frozen on the doorknob, Hanamaki didn’t turn around, but Yahaba could tell he was listening. “You joke about everything, and I do here and there, too. I never once thought you’d throw something like my sexuality in the ring like that, so I’m going to ask you, and I want a straight answer.

“Are you actually confessing to me, or are you just being a dick?”

When the answer came, Yahaba wanted to punch himself in the mouth.

“I’m scared, Yahaba.” Something lost and lonely saturated Hanamaki’s tone as he drummed his fingers on his thighs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do after school, and I don’t have volleyball to take my mind off of it anymore. And do you even _know_ how much shit the guys would give me for having a crush on an underclassman?”

Yahaba looked in vain for signs of subterfuge, but there was none. He had an aching feeling that Hanamaki was telling him the truth. “Hanamaki-senpai —”

“I’m not your senpai anymore,” Hanamaki repeated. “That was the problem in the first place.”

Considering Hanamaki’s words, Yahaba thought that he might be correct. Hanamaki held power and prestige in the Seijou volleyball locker room; he stood shoulder to shoulder with the greatest players and greatest captains to ever wear the aqua blue. Stepping up to that level would be bright and hot for any underclassman.

“I can’t ask you to feel the same,” Hanamaki continued. “But could you at least consider it? I didn’t think I missed the signals. I’m pretty sure I’m your, um, type.”

Yahaba sagged against a row of lockers and closed his eyes. He had never denied the fact that he was not exactly straight, but it wasn’t something he wanted to advertise during high school. It was a shitty place to come out, and everyone knew it. But if someone like Hanamaki could read the signs and have feelings for him, Yahaba wouldn’t rule out the concept of dating during school entirely.

Plus, there were only so many girls’ confessions he could politely turn down and blame it on volleyball and studying.

It reminded him of something Iwaizumi had told him after Valentine’s Day the year before: “You can’t turn them all down, Yahaba. If you like one of them, go for it, or you’ll look back on it and regret it.”

For a guy who spent more time with his best friend and teammates than anyone remotely female, Iwaizumi had some not-too-terrible advice to give on the matter.

But now Yahaba considered — _really_ considered — what Hanamaki was saying. This is the guy who ate all of Yahaba’s rejected confession chocolates rather than let him throw the pink-swaddled packages out. The guy who was competitive to the point where he gave up being a setter because Oikawa was so good, but ended up being a top-class spiker anyway. The guy who had a smile and a bad joke for anyone who needed one at the drop of the hat.

The guy who just confessed to him after what was, Yahaba was sure, the most brutal volleyball game either of them had ever played. The guy who was scared of ‘what next.’

And Yahaba couldn’t help but realize that he knew a little bit about what that was like.

“I’m going to be such a terrible captain.” With a sigh, Yahaba admitted something that had been malingering in his mind since the week after their loss to Shiratorizawa in the Interhighs. “All these guys looking at me to show them the way, and I couldn’t even tell if you were screwing with me or not.”

Hanamaki chortled. “Well, I’m not screwing with you. I was forbidden from screwing with you about this by our fearless leader.”

“What?” Yahaba’s brows shot up into his hairline.

“Oikawa figured it out a while ago.” He shrugged as he finally closed the door behind him. “I guess it’s obvious to someone with that Nth level of perception. But he told me not to do that to you, that you had enough to worry about. He said that waiting until after Spring Highs was only fair, so that way you could reject me if you wanted to and it wouldn’t hurt anyone but me. And you know Oikawa. He’s an annoying piece of shit if he’s right and you go out and prove it.”

Yahaba opened his mouth to refute that statement, but he couldn’t think of any evidence to the contrary. He didn’t know Oikawa personally enough to mention anything outside of volleyball, and no one questioned Oikawa when it came to volleyball, anyway.

“So . . . you like me.”

“Yeah. Is that so weird?”

It didn’t take Yahaba long to answer. “I guess not. Girls like me just fine.”

Hanamaki took slow strides towards Yahaba. “But you don’t like them?”

“Not really,” Yahaba answered, his breath catching in his throat. “Not my type, I guess.”

With only a foot of space between them, Hanamaki didn’t stop inching forward. “So what is your type?”

“Tall.” Yahaba gulped. “Smart.” Hanamaki smirked. “Knows a joke when he hears one.”

Yahaba’s heart jumped when Hanamaki’s hand made contact with the locker behind his head, and his lungs burned with the breath he was holding. “What do you get when you combine a wolf, a chicken, and a goat all in one?” Hanamaki whispered in Yahaba’s ear.

The sensation of hot breath skating over the sensitive flesh of his ear made Yahaba shiver. His eyes lolled closed as his head clacked back onto the locker. “The worst milkshake ever,” he managed to reply, still reeling from Hanamaki’s proximity.

“Mmm, good answer,” Hanamaki crooned as he dragged his nose along Yahaba’s jawline, making the latter feel like his skin was actually on fire. “How many liberos does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

Yahaba groaned loudly as Hanamaki’s teeth nipped on his earlobe. “One libero and the tallest ladder in town,” he panted. “That was a terrible joke.”

Hanamaki’s attentions had drifted downwards to Yahaba’s throbbing pulse, and he chuckled against Yahaba’s heated skin. “You know you like it.”

“Maybe I do,” Yahaba replied as he thrust his fingers into Hanamaki’s short, soft hair. “Please tell me you can do better than that.”

Teeth sunk into the slope of Yahaba’s shoulder, and he cried out. What little pain it caused was buffeted by the tide of pleasure. Abandoning whatever pretense they had been operating on — he couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about — Yahaba pulled Hanamaki’s head up looked searchingly into those amber eyes.

“File that under ‘things I didn’t know I needed until right now’,” Yahaba wheezed. “You’re good at that, at least.”

“You wound me,” Hanamaki cried melodramatically, holding a hand to his heart. “My daydreams can’t keep me going forever, you know. Even if I’ll remember this little interlude until they put my ashes in a pot.”

“So morbid,” Yahaba said reflexively as he considered the bizarre avalanche of new things he had not remotely considered when he got up to brush his teeth that morning.

They all did their best but still lost their final match. Kyoutani was an unexpected ally. Yahaba was afraid to fail his teammates and his predecessors’ legacy, and Hanamaki was afraid of the future. Hanamaki _like_ liked him, and he had a startlingly talented mouth.

The variables were all there. The age difference. The idea of being ‘out’ in high school. But even heavier than the downsides was the idea that he could share whatever came next with someone. He could face the daunting task of leading this team with someone strong to help him when he needed it. And maybe he had something that Hanamaki needed in return.

Yahaba searched every bit of flesh visible on Hanamaki’s face, from his almost always sardonic mouth to eyes that sparkled with mirth and something a little more edgy. Eyes that looked at him in earnest until they shyly averted.

“You don’t have to say yes, you know,” Hanamaki finally said. “I know it’s sudden and probably shitty timing.”

“A bit,” Yahaba said as he searched every crevice of his brain for an answer. But as he did, every ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, and ‘let me think about it’ rolled into a ball of warmth that settled in his belly as he thought about the boy in front of him. The boy whose bad jokes and deft mouth had made him forget all the strange angst that had wadded up around him throughout the day.

It didn’t take much of an effort to finally say, “Okay. Fine. You want to be my boyfriend, then answer this riddle.”

Hanamaki rubbed his hands together gleefully. “This should be good.”

“If I had a hundred yen for every bad joke you’ve told over the past two years, how rich would I be?”

Yahaba couldn’t help but grin as Hanamaki’s rich laughter filled the clubroom. It wasn’t until a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye and Yahaba dashed it away with a thumb that he stopped and covered the hands on his face with his own.

“Rich enough to buy a sense of humor,” Hanamaki murmured before lowering his mouth for a soft, lingering kiss. Allowing himself to drown in the sensation of lips on his, Yahaba let everything around them slide away.

Neither of them were expecting the door to clatter open, nor the growl of disgust as they vaulted apart. Yahaba looked up in horror to see who had walked in on them, only to find Kyoutani with the weirdest, twisted expression on his face.

Hanamaki merely chuckled and asked, “Forget something, Kyoutani-kun?”

“Yeah.” Kyoutani pointed at Yahaba. “I’m looking for this idiot. Oikawa’s making good on his ramen promise, and this skinny jackass could use a good meal or two.”

His mouth looping into an O of outrage, Yahaba cried, “Am not!”

Kyoutani shook his head. “Whatever, Yahaba.” He shrugged and opened the door. When neither Yahaba nor Hanamaki made a move to follow, he threw over his shoulder, “You comin’ or what?”

Their eyes met, and Yahaba allowed himself to enjoy the feel of Hanamaki’s hand slipping into his own. “Yeah,” he said absently, enjoying Hanamaki’s impish grin of reply. “Be right out.”

“Fine,” Kyoutani grumbled as he shut the door. Seconds later, the door opened back up and Kyoutani poked his head back in. “Just don’t get any . . . stuff on the benches. The last time I caught Oikawa and Iwaizumi-san in here, I almost burned the building down.”

With that, he shut the door.

“Well, so much for secrecy,” Hanamaki said, seemingly incognizant of Yahaba’s stare of horror.

“Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san?”

Hanamaki guffawed. “Please tell me you’re not this oblivious about everything, or you might need to give up the captaincy now.”

“Hey!” Yahaba smacked Hanamaki’s arm. “What about you, Mr. The-Future-Is-Scary? How about I poke fun at your insecurities?”

Shrugging, Hanamaki leaned into Yahaba’s shoulder. “Literally, like, three quarters of my stress is already moot. You like me back, one of our teammates already knows about us, and in about twenty minutes, I won’t be hungry anymore. Anything after that, I can deal with.”

“What about me!” Yahaba pouted. “I still have all of that stuff to worry about.”

Hanamaki wagged his brows. “If I bite your neck again, will that make you feel better?”

Though he knew the offer was a joke, Yahaba seriously considered it before issuing a non-committal, “Maybe.”

Outside the door, they could both hear Kyoutani bellow, “Do you two _ever_ shut up?”

“No,” they chimed together as they once again leaned into each other and, not bothering to separate, followed their surly escort away from the gym and to a nearby ramen place.

There were a few strange looks when they walked in hand-in-hand, most of them of the surprised variety, but when Oikawa gave them an animated thumbs up and Matsukawa pointed to a pair of seats saved for them next to him, Yahaba thought that the things on his mind seemed small in comparison to this. To them. To all of them.

As they settled in and sipped their tea, Hanamaki said quietly, “You just thought something gross and sentimental right then, didn’t you?”

“Hey!”

Even as he objected to having his thoughts read, Yahaba settled into the meal with an ease he hadn’t had on their bus ride back from Sendai. He would have Hanamaki outside the court, Kyoutani’s begrudgingly offered yet much appreciated support on it, and the acceptance of his teammates.

After the gathering disbursed, with Oikawa much lighter in the pocket, they all went their separate ways. Oikawa and Iwaizumi walked home together, even though Yahaba no longer thought it was because they lived on the same street. And he and Hanamaki wandered towards the public tea gardens close to the restaurant.

As the meandered through the rich green foliage, Hanamaki nudged Yahaba. “Wanna make out?”

_Yes_. “Maybe.”

“Do you wonder if Iwaizumi and Oikawa are doing the nasty?”

With a shriek he dearly hoped would shatter his mind’s eye, Yahaba socked Hanamaki in the shoulder. “God, why do I even like you?”

Hanamaki chuckled and pulled him close. “Maybe that’s a riddle we’ll never solve.”

“Probably not,” Yahaba breathed as their lips inched closer.

“Extensive research will need to be conducted.”

“Of course.”

“Trial and error.”

“Lots of trial.”

“Better get started, then.”

Much research was done, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Rose, I am so, so sorry.


End file.
